


Leather Gloves

by Jali



Series: Roommates + expansions [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon GO
Genre: Bite Kink, Biting, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gag, Glove Kink, Gloves, Leather Kink, Missionary Position, Mouth gag, Nipple Play, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Restraint, leather gag, sofa, verbal kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jali/pseuds/Jali
Summary: Beta'd!An interlude between chapters 8 and 9 (in fact, 9 picks up exactly where this leaves off) of Roommates. Checking in on the gym over the holiday break, we learn a few things about Spark's past, our protagonist has a meltdown thanks to his new leather gloves, and yes, the gym has a nap room.You can read as a stand-alone, but where's the fun in that?(It's got softcore elements of BDSM, which I've never written before. If you see something that's off, and you've got any tips on how to improve, I'd like to know.Getting into the character's head during a scene is fun!)2018/01/07:I'm pre-releasing the next installment of Roommates, called Valentine's Day, to a select audience. You can find out more about that by followingthe tag on my blogfor teasers! :)





	Leather Gloves

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Nebulagoose for your beta-ing ♥
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

Spark stows your coats in the closet by the door and heads to his desk to boot up his computer. You hang your purse on the doorknob and study the room at a slow wander. Maybe he didn’t have the vocabulary for it, you think as you gaze around his office, but Spark had good taste. The room is chic and subtly luxurious, with a warm and welcoming palette, and an elegantly framed slab of cork along one wall all but plastered in photos and handwritten letters. You hadn’t noticed that during the party —but then, he had left the main lights off, and you had been distracted by his hand on the small of your back.

Curious, you approach the modest wall of fame. The letters appear to be written by several different hands in a variety of mediums from crayon, pencils, markers, and pen. The crayon ones are simplistic in their messages. Some individual characters are backwards, with writhing lines drawn by unsteady little hands. Those in utilitarian blue ballpoint are scratchy and sharp, likely written in haste. They document travels to places you’d only heard of on TV, frightening encounters with legendary-class beasts, and worthwhile trades. There are a few gaudy letters on perfumed hotel stationery. Others are colorful craft paper written in bubbly, glittering gel pen, heavily accented with hearts. These illustrate pokemon grooming, run-ins with criminals, camp cooking, and infant pokemon.

You smile as you read the signatures, many of which repeat across the letters, the postscript awash with juvenile adoration. You don’t blame those teenage girls (and some boys) for crushing on Spark.

“Cute, huh? They’re from the town kids.”  
“So cute,” you agree. “Are they all out on the road?”  
“Most are. Robin’s making his way home. Brook is staying put somewhere to apprentice in a breeding program. Zef just took off again. Couldn’t control those travel-happy feet.”  
“You sound like such a proud dad.”

Spark snickers at that.

“I _am_ proud of them! Takes a load of guts to pack up and head out into the wild unknown like that, no matter what your age.”  
“Their parents’ hair must be turning white at some of these adventures.”  
“Far as I know, they only tell _me_ that stuff. Their parents get the sanitized report.”  
“Oh? Why?”  
“Guess they think of me as their cool big brother? I dunno. Maybe because I’ve been there and can relate. Maybe ‘cause I won’t freak out the way mom and dad might. I mean, I do worry…”  
“Of course you do.”

You turn and look at him with a teasing grin.

“Though I think a few of them would like to be more than mere disciples.”  
“They’re just kids.”  
“Oh, I know, but they don’t think that. Puberty comes around and suddenly everyone attractive is fair game.”  
“Yeah, well…”

Spark’s blushing and doing a lame job of trying to look focused on his work.

“Why you turning red? Something I should know?”  
“Close the door.”

You give him a suspicious look, but your curiosity can’t be caged now. The door clicks shut, and you face him again.

“You’re not going to tell me one of those kids is yours, are you?”  
“Hell no.”  
“So, what?”  
“One of them kissed me. Felt like an ass making them cry when I turned them down.”  
“Aww, poor widdle baby. Better an ass than not.”  
“It’s not funny.”  
“Aw, come on, you know what it’s like to be that age.”  
“And all I need is one false squawk of misconduct to get the league and the cops all over me. Really not funny. Suspension on those grounds is as good as killing my career.”

Your humor fizzles around the edges and your smile falters.

“It’s that serious?”  
“About a third of the trainers coming through here are underage.”  
“I know most trainers are young, but…”

You pause in thought and feel something click.

“Hey, that time I first kissed you. You mentioned something about assault. Were you worried I’d slam you?”  
“…In a nutshell.”  
“You’re awfully worried about your image… Aren’t gym leaders allowed a life of their own?”

Spark sighs. You give the letters another lingering glance and somehow, they just don’t seem all that cute anymore. It’s not a clear threat, nothing you can protect him from, and that makes you empathize with his uneasiness even more. You head for his desk and step behind his chair to give his shoulders a squeeze.

“Hey, no hairless little brat is going to steal you. I’ll fight ‘em.”  
“It’s more than that. It’s not just being a gym leader, or being a guy surrounded by horny teenagers, or whether I’m allowed a life.”  
“Did something bad happen-?” Spark snarls and cuts you off.  
“You find someone you care about, get intimate, and after a while the rough sex is abusive. No discussion, just a restraining order.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. Your pulse picks up double-time, and your ears begin to throb.

“ _What!?_ Who the fuck would do that?”

He sighs heavily and his shoulders sag. He touches his face, but you can’t see what he’s doing. You’re too shocked to offer comfort just yet. Your brain feels like a dam of questions has just been blown sky-high, and you can’t grab a single one out of the tide.

“It’s already past and done with.”  
“Not if you’re still dragging that ball and chain! Like, how rough _were_ you?”  
“No more than I am with you. Honest. I would ask if she was alright and she said yes every time.”  
“So, what, she was ok with it until she wasn’t? Did she hit her fucking head? Why didn’t she talk to you first?”

Spark shrugs and says nothing. He reaches up to stroke your forearm, and you let out a breath and some anger with it. Your fingers are clutching his hoodie –a lame substitute for the mystery wench whose face you’d love to rearrange.

“You guys did try to talk, right?”  
“Can’t talk to someone who won’t return your calls and won’t see you. Apparently, she was scared of me.”

He sounds resigned, as if still hurt by the whole affair. His fingers slip between yours and you gnaw your lip, studying his profile over his shoulder. He had never lied before. Would he lie about this? Was there more to the story? Was she just a passive-aggressive coward?

“It’s hard to open up like that,” he utters quietly. “It’s fucking terrifying when that trust gets pulled out from under you.”

You doubt he’s talking about emotional vulnerability. You didn’t know the full scope of his sexual interests, but if your embarrassment about the glove in the vestibule was any measure, you could very well appreciate his anxiety about admitting to anyone that he’d want more than vanilla sex.

“Why did you open up to me?” You ask. “What made you want to trust me?”  
“I can’t name anything specific. I just feel like… You get me, or you’re trying to. And believe it or not, that’s really reassuring.”  
“That’s why you overreacted that time you had a bad week, isn’t it? That’s why you looked like a deer in the headlights when we first made out.” You sigh and rest your cheek atop his head. “Oh, that fucking _bitch_ …”  
“Sorry to spring it on you like this. I wanted to tell you sooner, but there’s no real good way to bring it up.”  
“Yeah, I get that. I’m reeling. Who was she? I’m happy to give her a piece of my mind. What a coward.”

He rolls his head back a bit to glance up at you and tries on a nervous smile.

“You’re sweet when you want to go to war for me, you know that?”  
“As someone on the receiving end of your proclivities, I think I’m _plenty_ qualified to consider whoever she was a real piece of work. And I’m being polite. You don’t _do_ that to someone.”  
“Wouldn’t you have done the same to Fen?”  
“That asshole was stalking me. You just have different habits. Doesn’t make you a criminal.”

You shift to kiss his forehead and stroke a bit of hair behind his ear. Admittedly, you had had that same fear once, but the hypocrisy is overwritten by your fury that someone could –had- hurt and spooked him. You _would_ go to war for him, and it’s crystal clear the moment you acknowledge the sentiment.

Spark is important to you. You trust him. You’re quite sure you’re disgustingly in love with him.

“Aw, Spark, I’m so sorry. I understand how you feel, though,” you utter gently. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t promise I’ll go along with everything you want to do, but I can promise I’ll be honest. I’ll protect you however I can. I know you’re not that guy. I know you respect me.”

Spark leans back and you meet him halfway for an upside-down kiss.

“That means a lot to me. Thank you.”

You kiss again.

“Want me to go sit and let you work?”  
“No, stay.”

You kiss his temple and set both hands on his shoulders to knead the tension there as he returns to his work. It’s more an excuse just to touch him, to reassure the both of you, but it does mellow him out somewhat. It calms your temper as well. Eventually, your hands begin to tire, so you idly preen his hair instead. You smile when he shivers, goosebumps trailing down his nape. Your hand soothes the bumps, and your gaze examines his desk. Some paperwork, a pen, a few envelopes, an expensive box, a picture frame- _wait, box?_ You lean over to examine the brand logo.

“Wow, what’d you get? Was it a gift?”  
“Hm?” Spark glances at the box. “Oh, that? You can open it.”

The box is olive-colored, about the size of a tablet’s packaging. The logo embossed on the lid is metallic gold and the heavy cardstock is coated in a velvety-smooth finish. Everything about it screams luxury. Inside is a microfiber dust bag encasing a pair of black, leather, men’s gloves. You feel one, rolling the buttery textile between your fingers, and are surprised at how thin it is.

“Beautiful leather, but I’m not sure they’ll be very warm.”  
“They’re for you, actually. I didn’t want anything cheap in case it didn’t feel right.”  
“Me? You bought designer gloves for me, for this kink I didn’t know I had? Oh, Mew, what am I gonna do with you…”  
“If you don’t like them, I can get different ones.”  
“I know what these cost. And technically it might have just been a fluke. Are you sure this is a good idea?”  
“If it’s a fluke, then I’ll have some nice gloves to wear this winter.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and smooch his cheek.

“You are way too generous. I guess I should say thank you.” He smiles.  
“You’re welcome.”  
“Have I mentioned this is weird to me?”  
“Oh, yeah, you’re the absolute weirdest.”

Spark returns the kiss on your own cheek. You sigh and set your chin on his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck. It’s not very comfortable for the rest of you, being that you’re half-bent over, but the urge to be close and comfort him outweighs your discomfort. You gaze at the gloves half-unwrapped in their box and wonder if they were worth the investment.

_Honestly, they’ve got to be at least $500._  
_I’m going to feel really guilty if he does feel me up with them and my reaction is basically_ poof!  
_Someone out there actually slapped a restraining order on him. I can’t believe this._  
_No wonder he’s been anxious_ _. He wasn’t just following up to see if I was having a good time, he was legit scared I would turn on him._  
_What if he really was too rough? What if she was too scared to speak up?_  
_Then she was a fucking idiot._ _He’s so easy to talk to. She didn’t have trouble speaking up to the cops._  
_But what if their relationship wasn’t like ours?_  
_Hello, it clearly wasn’t._  
_I guess I kind of understand her, but maybe I’m also biased._  
_No, you’re someone who knows how to discuss sex with their partner. That bitch was a_ _cowardly idiot._  
_What if that time on the sofa hadn’t cleared up the way it did? I might have been bitch number two._  
_Review my last point. You wanted him too much to let some stupid shit get in the way, even if you’re too scared to admit it._  
_You’re accurately blunt today._  
_Sleeping in does wonders. Wait, where are those going?_

Your eyes follow the gloves as Spark takes them out of their wrappings and moves them left, then right. He snickers, and it interrupts your discussion with yourself.

“Penny for your thoughts?”  
“Just admiring them, thinking about stuff.”  
“You like? Wanna take ‘em for a spin?”  
“What, like now? We’re supposed to go shopping.”  
“I recall saying after we were done at the gym. We’re still here, aren’t we?”  
“Are you suggesting we have sex here in your office?”  
“My sofa’s leather, you know.”  
“Yeah, but there are people still in the building.”  
“Door’s shut, walls are pretty thick.”

His smile is anything but innocent. You wish you had a lead vest or some protective charm against him for times like these when you know you should be focused on necessities like food, instead of fucking him.

“I… This seems like potentially a bad idea.”  
“Seems like potentially a load of fun from where I’m standing. Sitting. Anyway, stores don’t close until ten, and we’re on vacation.”  
“I hate when you use logic on me.”  
“It’s super effective.”  
“Ok, but seriously, mister I’m worried about my image: what if someone walks by and hears us?”  
“Gym’s closed to the public.”

He shrugs. You swear that grin just got bigger.

“Are you an exhibitionist? Why do I get the feeling you want someone to hear us?”

_Petty revenge against Tanny?_

“Maybe I do.”

Spark grabs the back of your head and pulls you down for a kiss. You snicker and kiss back.

“Then maybe we should at least lock the door?”  
“It locks from the inside.”  
“Ah. So…”  
“Sofa.”

You unwrap yourself from him, stand upright, and stretch.

“Seriously, though?”  
“Seriously.”

You raise your eyebrows and turn to make your way across the room to the sofa, hearing the chair creak as he follows a moment later. You grace the side table with your scarf, and take a breath as you reach for the zip of your dress, hesitate, and then try to play it off like you were just tugging at your sleeves. Drunk bathroom sex in a club was one thing, but Spark’s staff were still somewhere in the building –people both of you would inevitably come into contact with the longer you remained together.

_You could always just never visit the gym for the rest of your life. Or break up with him._  
_Neither are an option._  
_You know, those gloves are kind of a commitment._  
_Ya think?!_  
_One to ten, how embarrassed would you be if they didn’t do jack for you?_  
_Twelve, if counting the fact that this is fucking weird and when the hell did I ever have a kink?_  
_Spark’s got some kinks._  
_Those are his._  
_Some are becoming yours._  
_…Yeah, well…_

“Go ahead. Take it off.”

Spark’s body is warm when he presses up behind you and wraps an arm around your waist. His lips on your temple give your stomach a little flip.

“Oh, you saw that, huh?”  
“First time you’ve hesitated undressing in front of me. Everything ok?”  
“Someone might hear. And what if the gloves were a one-time thing? This is embarrassing. Have I mentioned that?”  
“Nervous?”

You nod your head. You’re a lot of things, but nervous seems the right word to sum it all up.

“Want me to help?”  
“Um… You _are_ pretty good with zippers, heh…”

Together, you get the zipper undone and his hands slip the straps off. The dress pools around your feet, leaving you in your sweater and leggings. Spark sweeps your hair over your shoulder, giving himself access to the sweater’s buttons down your back. He pauses after the first undone button to kiss your neck.

“I can see you shaking.”  
“I’m just nervous. Excited. Nervouscited.”  
“Relax, I won’t hurt you.”  
“I know, just… What if it’s all for nothing?”  
“What if it’s not?”

His lips graze your skin as he speaks. The vibrations rumble down your spine, making your insides shiver.

“What if, just maybe, you like this?”  
“Yeah… That, too.”  
“So, let’s find out.”

The buttons come undone one by one, his lips following the path of newly bared skin as he goes. You reach your hands back, one thumb catching on a belt loop on his jeans, the other finding a fistful of hoodie. Something to keep your hands occupied, keep track of him, maintain some sense of grounding.

“That’s not my zipper you’re grabbing, just so you know.”

It’s a jarring hiccup on the atmosphere of seduction he’s crafted, but at least you’re laughing. Spark’s own little laugh against your shoulder suggests he did that on purpose to shatter your nerves. Bully for him; it worked.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with my hands? Cat’s cradle?”  
“I’ve got tape in my desk drawer.”  
“Wait, what?!”

Spark doesn’t let you think too long or hard about that; his tongue behind your ear scrambles your thoughts. Movement turns your gaze forward and down, finding his hands slipping the gloves on with measured efficiency. The oily scent of the leather wafts up to you and your mouth begins to water. One hand disappears from view, and then something _cool-soft-foreign_ is under your sweater, stroking your back. You swallow hard and feel your stomach tighten as Spark’s other gloved hand reaches to tilt your chin back. The smell of the leather this close is rich, like something you want to eat. Unlike the salt-stained, worn hide that had deprived you of air in the alleyway, Spark’s gloves are smooth, clean, gentle. The leather is quick to warm between his hands and your skin. Your eyes fall shut as fingertips trace the edge of your jaw, down the line of your throat, and back up along your other ear.

“Feels nice?”  
“Mmm…”  
“Yes?”  
“Yes.”

Knuckles graze your temple while the hand under your sweater idles in little circles. Spark laughs softly. You open your eyes and turn your head along his hand to look back at him. He’s smirking.

“What?”  
“Prrr, mreow?”

You blink and want to be embarrassed but it’s so random that all you can do is snicker.

“I am not a cat!”  
“Could’ve fooled me, the way you were rubbing your face. Wonder if I can get you to purr?”

He bumps his nose against yours, and you share an intimate little smile. You both know he could. A finger grazes across your cheek, over your mouth. The fingertip’s seam tugs your lower lip slightly. Your gaze follows his hand like prey, your mouth salivating at the smell. It would be nice to dig your teeth into that pliant, fragrant skin. It would be _so_ satisfying to feel it give, feel the warmth on your tongue, your jaws closing tight. The more you consider it, the more vividly you can imagine what it might taste like, feel like. Your eyes meet Spark’s.

“Can I… bite?”

_What the entire fuck? What are you, a stray dog?_  
_I want to bite._  
_Do not put your mouth on that –oh, my god, why?_ Why _are you doing this? This is disgusting._  
_Shhh…_  
_Spark’s a bad influence. Bet you everything he’s getting off on this. Congrats on being his new freaky bitch._  
_Shhh…_

Spark offers the crook of his inner hand.

“Go for it.”

It’s a strange parody of the way you were attacked, though you don’t completely realize it at first. Strong man behind you, a leather-gloved hand covering your face, your breathing excited. The leather yields somewhat to the pressure of your jaws, the resistance against your gums pleasant. Your tongue tingles as the pungent, sharp taste of the oil surges across it. Saliva pools in your mouth. Your hands tighten their grip on his clothing.

“Don’t be dainty. _Bite_.”

His voice is huskier, low with a tone of authority. You meet Spark’s challenge with a glare and oblige, widening your bite and clamping down harder. He’s braced for it, watching you with a mix of amusement and challenge. You shut your eyes, relaxing your jaw for a moment, and then bite again, focused entirely on the sensation. Saliva dribbles down your chin. The pressure on your gums is throbbing, meditative. _You can’t hurt me!_ You can feel his pulse against your tongue. You snarl and clench your jaws as if you could punish the heartbeat in your mouth, make it stop altogether. You want to rend a mouthful, tear the leather with your teeth, bite into his skin and feel that heat spread along your tongue. Every sharp inhalation reeks of leather and Spark’s skin. His own quickened breathing is a rhythm against your back, the hand under your sweater tightening, fingertips pressing harder into your flesh.

 _…Who_ are _you??_  
_Shhh…_

Spark doesn’t give any indication it hurts, or that he wants to end it —you suspect he’s enjoying it- and eventually the pressure in your jaws and temples lets you know when it’s time to quit. The leather is stuck to your teeth for a second as you let go. The glove is wet and indented with your bite, and your mouth tastes bitter, musky, oily. You awkwardly work your jaw, licking your mouth with a few smacks. You feel a perplexed expression settle on your face as you contemplate what just happened. Spark slowly flexes his hand, his breath catching as the tension works its way free.

“Good bite,” he says. It sounds like the way he praises his pokemon, and yet it’s strangely validating.  
“Did I hurt you?”  
“A little. Damn, do me like that any time…”

He meets your eyes and you look away, gnawing at your lower lip. The adrenaline is making you feel almost light-headed. You try to remember what it’s like to breathe normally. _Why is this happening?_

“You ok? Did you hurt yourself?”

You shake your head.

“I didn’t expect that, but I’m glad you went for it. It kind of… seems like you went somewhere else, though?”  
“All I could feel or smell was the leather. I don’t know. I thought —nothing, it’s crazy.”  
“What?”  
“I thought… was thinking about how much this resembled that night in the alley.”

Spark kisses your temple and hugs you with his arm around your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to have it turn out that way. Are you sure you’re ok?”  
“No, I think it helped. I’m going to sound crazy if I try to explain it-”  
“Explain it.”  
“It’s like… I wanted to fight back, and I could. I mean, I know it was your hand, and your words encouraging me, but I wasn’t really biting _you_. Y’know?”  
“You were fighting that guy and winning.”  
“Y-yeah… In my own mind, anyway.”  
“How do you feel now?”

You run your tongue over the roof of your mouth. The hint of pain from your gums faintly throbbing felt satisfying. How _did_ you feel?

“Powerful. And strong, and sexy.”

Hungry, horny, bigger than you’ve felt in a long time. Spark swipes his thumb over your damp chin.

“Good. Don’t worry about how you got there.”  
“I like the gloves. They can stay.”  
“Awesome, because I wasn’t done with them yet.”

Your witty reply halts when he drags fingertips along the channel of your spine, the leather clinging with your sweat. He places an open-mouthed kiss on your throat, grazes his teeth as if he’s tempted to bite you back. Your sweater rides up with the movement of his hand. Your back arches with the suggestion of pressure. The butterflies in your belly feel more like arousal now, and you bite your lip to hold back a grin.

“Help me get this off.”

You feel giddy at the thought of those leathered hands touching the rest of you. You grab the hem of your sweater, and Spark shields your hair from snagging on the buttons. He helps you pull your arms free of the fitted sleeves, then your sweater joins your dress on the floor. You rake your hair to one side and bite back another grin as you look over your shoulder at him. Your lace bralette reveals about as much as it covers, but the sensation of fabric fools your sense of modesty.

“You look so excited,” he remarks with a little smirk of his own. His fingers loosely tease a handful of your hair, coaxing you into a giggle.  
“I kind of am!”

Spark kisses your mouth, and you feel his fingers trail down your throat, between your breasts, over the lace and your flinching belly. He lays the flat of his hand against the waistband of your leggings. You wish they weren’t in the way. The band is an unfortunate border he’s not interested in crossing. You lay your hand on top of his as he caresses the curve of your waist back up and squeeze his fingers when they meet your breast. The flimsy lace does nothing to cushion you from the weight of the leather; it’s smoother but harder than his naked palm. Skin yet not-skin. Spark’s other hand joins the party, and you reach up to angle his head.

You moan when he lightly pinches your nipples, your fingernails digging into the wrist of his glove. You break the kiss, gasping and feeling every tease echo twice as intensely between your thighs. Attention to your chest was pleasant enough, but it had never turned your body into a shivering live-wire before.

“Wow, like a light switch,” he muses, sounding a little out of breath.  
“Fuck.”  
“Soon.”

He stills his hands and lets you catch your breath. You wish you had something between your legs or something to grind on –anything to ease the tension. These gloves were unquestionably, officially a kink.

“This? Has never been a thing.”  
“You sure? Maybe nobody’s done it right?”  
“Maybe it’s the leather.”  
“Or maybe we’ll have to try without the gloves, for argument’s sake.”

You laugh breathlessly.

“You just want to grope my boobs.”  
“That is a factor, I won’t lie. This lacy thing is cute.”  
“Thanks.”  
“So. Sofa?”

You’re wobbly but you manage to go the few steps forward and collapse on the cushions. The leather is cool against your naked back, buttery-soft, and undoubtedly expensive. Before you, Spark is working the cuffs of his hoodie over the gloves and hauling the fabric overhead. He tosses condoms from his rear pocket onto the seat, and you reach out to grab him by the undone jeans and drag him closer. Your lips dot his skin as you tease your hands along his thighs. He smells clean, musky, delicious. You reach past the zipper to stroke him, your other hand on his jeans reaching around to his back, to bared skin. His breath hitches as you rake your nails down his back, his body arching closer to you. There’s a tease of blonde just above the band of his underwear, like an advertisement: _Turn here for breathtaking thrills._

Spark combs your hair back, the leather tugging on a few individual strands, and giving you delightful shivers. You push the fabric down and slip him from one restriction to another, digging your nails into the small of his back to hold him where you want him. You moan and hear Spark reciprocate, fingers tightening in your hair. It’s a little tricky to bob your head when he’s got both hands in your hair, but he’s not controlling. It’s a power trip getting him hard in your mouth, feeling him swell until you can’t take him in anymore. Your fingers on his back drum your fingernails against his skin –fleeting teases interspersed with unexpected sharper scratches that make him jerk and breathe harder. You look up, the naked head resting on your tongue, your hand on the rest. The look in his eyes gets you every time; hungry and focused on you. It’s an aphrodisiac being looked at with that much want when you crave him just as much.

He yanks you back by the hair at the last second, and you feel dribbles of warm wet across your chest and dripping down your stomach. _That’s one way to handle not swallowing._ He sighs and loosens his grip on your hair, apparently satisfied. You lick him clean and kiss his belly.  You fiddle with his clothes, not quite sure how far he really planned to take this _right here on his damn sofa._ Spark combs your hair back and tilts your head. When you look up, he’s coyly licking his upper lip. You wonder if the almost-smile he’s holding back is anything like yours had been.

“May as well lose the pants at this point, right?”  
“Oh, please do.”

You cross one ankle on your knee, plucking your socks off as Spark undresses. Watching his clothes hit the floor distracts you, and you pause on the edge of the furniture, as you wipe your lip-gloss. Everything he has on goes but the gloves. It’s a good look.

“I think black is your color.”

Spark smirks and tugs the wrist of one glove.

“You mean I look good in just these gloves that happen to be black.”  
“That, too. Now get over here and molest me.”  
“I will. Lose the clothes.”

He doesn’t offer to help as you wriggle your leggings down your hips and lean down to get the cuffs past your ankles. You’re uncomfortably wet in the seat, and a bit tight across the small of your back, like a half-assed period cramp. _What’s up with that?_ When you glance up, Spark’s idly working his fingers between each other, adjusting the fit and watching you with a lazy, growing smirk.

“You look especially good at that angle.”  
“Eyes down here, buddy.”  
“Yes, but your ass is up there.”  
“That’s not the first time you’ve expressed your appreciation. I’m starting to think you do have a favorite body part.”  
“Just being polite.”

There’s nothing polite about the way he’s looking at you. You get your legs free and sit up, finding his come on your belly now smeared on your thighs. At least it missed your clothing.

“If you say so.”  
“Would it help if I listed all the other parts I like?”  
“Well, now you have me curious.”

Spark steps forward and takes your chin, leather pressing against your lower lip. You’re forced to tilt your head back to look up at him. You meet his gaze and some small, timid, prey-like aspect of your mind puts an immediate halt to your movement. Don’t move, and maybe he won’t attack. He’s looking at you like he wouldn’t mind biting something soft and vulnerable.

You wish he would.

“These lips, for one. And your eyes.”  
“Mysterious, by any chance?”  
“Not as much. I’m starting to see you in them.”  
“What do you see now?”

He smiles then kneels, pecks your lips, and reaches between your calves to haul off the leggings. Your legs part easily at his touch. Your breathing shudders at the mere touch of leather on your knees.

“These legs are also very nice.”

His hands are creeping up your thighs, and your heartbeat is picking up with every inch. You rake your fingers into his hair, and he draws teasingly closer.

“Your chest. Your throat. Even better when you’re breathing hard. I like this hollow spot here-”

His lips press against the hollow between your collar bones, his tongue filling the space, and he drags a long lick southward. His fingers find the edge of your panties, and his mouth covers the lace on your chest. You moan and dig your nails into his shoulder. It was frustrating and exciting how quick you were beginning to respond to him, how tightly-wound your body was becoming with so much stimulation and no release. Spark pushes forward, forcing you back against the cushions and you feel a wave of goosebumps from the cold leather against your hot skin. You’re equal parts tense with anticipation, and wanting to go limp and wallow against the buttery hide.

A ginger bite makes you yip and jump in surprise, and then there’s a hand on your crotch, over your panties, caressing up your belly. The denial makes you squirm impatiently, and you crane your head down to nip Spark’s ear.

“I’m dying here. Give me something between my legs.”  
“Like what?”  
“I don’t know, _something_. Please?”

It never hurt to ask nicely. You were both new to each other’s bodies, and it was entirely possible he wasn’t reading your frustration. The hand still on your thigh moves north, and your body tenses as he rubs against your crotch, slow and hard. The lace on your chest is pulled up and naked leather touches your breast and Spark’s mouth closes on a nipple. His hand between your legs is maddening, coaxing your body to rock for more. You’re biting your lip and whimpering. Another round of teeth earns a cry and a sharp bolt of heat down your body, and then you’re coming.

Your body feels uncomfortably incensed when it’s over, and you don’t know why. That’s when you realize something’s wrong. You reach down to pry his hand away from your panties, the pleasure of seconds ago now feeling like painful torture. The tightness in your lower back has become full-blown cramps. Despite the discomfort, you can see your hands shaking and feel like you’re on the edge of coming again. _That can’t be right._

Spark reaches up to work your hand free of his hair and sits up, but whatever he was about to say is apparently forgotten as he looks you over.

“You ok?”  
“So horny, I feel like I could die.” Your voice trembles like you’re on the verge of tears.  
“Oh… kay? Um, do you want to stop?”  
“I don’t know,” you whimper, confused and beginning to panic. And through it all, your nerves are rioting for more.

Contrary to what your nerves want, Spark removes his hands from you and rests his forearms to either side of your hips, mindful not to touch you.

“You look high as a kite, baby. I think you’ve had too much.”  
“That’s a thing?”  
“Yeah, it can be a thing. Overstimulation, probably.”

You let go of him and reach with trembling hands to get rid of your bralette. Even the pressure of the elastic over the tops of your breasts was distracting. You groan and scrape your nails through your own hair, but the intentional pain doesn’t dampen the mood.

“It’s happened before,” you admit.

You wish you had any control over your body. You’d love to shove a hand down your panties and try to find any relief, but you know what you’re dealing with, and that’s not going to work.

“You’ve done this to me before.”  
“Me? You never said anything.”  
“It wasn’t so bad. Thought it was just us being excited.”  
“When?”  
“Every time. Could you just put your hands on my thighs?”

You’re past embarrassment when the feeling of his hands laying on your thighs makes you gasp and sigh in pleasure. He looks like he’s having second thoughts about it, but stays put.

“Shit, I had no idea. Was it anything specific?”  
“Dunno.”  
“Has this happened before? Like, is this normal for you?”

You snort-laugh.

“Nope. You’re the lucky winner.”  
“Yeah, I sure am…”  
“Guess we know the gloves work.”  
“I’m trying to figure out why that pushed you over so fast. Was it that intense?”

_Everything with you is intense._  
_Grab him with your legs and shove his head where it belongs._  
_Oh, my god, chill, we need to figure this out._  
_I need_ something _! I feel like I’m going insane!_  
_Freezies, cold shower, polar dip, wet clothes in a blizzard-_  
_-Wet and riding him by the fireplace in a chalet during a blizzard. Let it snow~_  
_…_  
_Ice would be great foreplay. Ice is fun._  
_…Dear god, I need help._

“I think… I dunno, but I think it’s because you were trying to make me come all those times. This time you kept teasing me up and then letting it simmer.”  
“And now you’ve boiled over. Ok, so, little milestones are better?”  
“Doesn’t seem to keep me from getting here, but it does buy time.”  
“What was it like before? You didn’t look anything like this.”  
“What do I look like?”  
“Like you’re drugged and horny and thinking about climbing me.”  
“Bingo.”

You both laugh awkwardly at that, but it’s not all that funny. Spark looks disappointed.

“So, I guess I’ve done too much. Shit.”  
“Oh, no, babe, don’t say that.”  
“You looked like you were about to cry before, like you knew something was wrong. I feel bad when you cry.”  
“I’m sorry, I panicked.”  
“If it’s happened before, is it going to happen every time? Maybe it’s like, an adjustment period? Wet spell or whatever.”  
“I don’t know,” you murmur, touching his hands, then deciding against it and setting them on the cushions instead. Less pressure on your thighs, less suggestion to the rest of your body even though you want it.

“Look, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve just done too much right. There’s gotta be some way to get around this.”  
“I never thought I’d be having a conversation about sex being too good,” he snorts. “How do we get around this?”  
“I dunno. Numbing cream?”  
“Fuck no, you are not doing that. What if it messes you up for good?”

You huff and look away, flustered and disappointed. You feel like crying again.

“Masturbation?” he proposes.  
“How is that supposed to help?”  
“Takes the edge off. Acclimates your body, or something.”  
“Doesn’t really work that way with girls.”  
“Why not? You do it, right? I don’t have anything against you getting off on your own.” You grit your teeth at that.  
“Have sex with myself so I don’t flip out having sex with you? Are you kidding me? I don’t wanna _acclimate_! This whole problem started because I’m having sex with you!”

You regret the words the instant they leave your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth as if you could reel them back in. You hazard a glance at Spark and feel your throat tighten as your eyes well up. He looks like he’s been slapped.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. That’s not what I mean!”  
“It’s ok, calm down. Please don’t cry. We can fix this, ok? It was just an idea, but we can come up with more. Please don’t freak out.”  
“I’m sorry, I’m just so frustrated! I don’t know how to control this! I don’t _want_ this to happen every time!”  
“I know, and crying won’t help. I know what you mean. I know you’re frustrated. Just breathe, ok? Crying sucks.”  
“Yeah, it does, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t _want_ to feel broken like this! I’m sorry…”

You sniffle and wipe away the first tear that streaks down your face, several more following it. Everything that was good about the tryst is starting to tarnish and feel ugly. You feel ugly. Embarrassed. You don’t want to blame Spark, but you were both here because of him all the same.

_What if it’s something wrong with you?_  
_How could it be? It’s never happened before._  
_Because they were all inept losers._  
_But Candy-_  
_Fuck Candy, she’s not a guy, she didn’t do you like Spark does. Admit it, you can’t handle him._  
_No, I don’t want…_  
_Then you better find a solution. He’s not slowing down. He’s going to lose patience sooner or later._  
_…Sex isn’t everything._  
_Let’s find you a time machine and you go tell yourself of, oh, four months ago that. Like when you assaulted him on the sofa._

More tears trickle down your face. You look past Spark at the clothes strewn all over his office floor. You look at your painted toenails, your feet alongside his calves. You’re too ashamed to look at him. Not only were you killing the mood with your panic, but your tears gave Spark a particularly aggrieved expression that made you feel even worse.

“You ever get so angry you punch yourself in the face?”  
“W-what?”

Your voice sounds rough and watery, but the suddenness of the question is jarring, and your tears momentarily halt. Spark elaborates:

“When I was a trainer still wandering around, like, thirteen or something, I tried to take on a gym and was, I swear, _this_ close to beating them, but I lost. And then I indulged in the most immature tantrum ever. I ended up ripping up my latest envelope with letters and stuff that my parents had sent me. I had it up in front of me and the backward motion of my hand socked me right in the face. Pow! Thought I broke my nose.”

For a heartbeat, you just stare at each other.

And then you start giggling.

“You did what?”

“Punched myself in the face. So, there I am, all pissed off, and the gym leader comes around to scrape me off the floor and ask me if I see any pidgey flying around, how many fingers, the usual. And then I start bawling like a little kid, ‘cause that’s when the shock wore off and the pain kicked in. And she starts laughing at me. Full on laughing her ass off while I’m crying.”

You can’t help laughing harder.

“She finally says to me, ‘kid, you just punched yourself in the face. Why the hell did you do that?’ And I say, ‘I don’t know, it was an accident!’ Right? Like who would _want_ to punch themselves in the face? She says, ‘if you have the energy to hurt yourself, you need to go back to the drawing board and put that energy to better use.’”

The tears that had welled up are streaming down your face, but you’re laughing too hard to cry anymore.

“What the fuck, Spark, why are you telling me this? I can’t believe you punched yourself.”  
“Because you needed a laugh and that’s one hell of a stupid-funny story.”  
“Did you break your nose?”  
“Nah, just hurt a lot.”

Your laughing fit fizzles off after a few minutes and you wipe your face. Spark bites a fingertip and pulls off one of his gloves, then reaches up to help dry your eyes. The flesh at the base of his thumb is dark pink, mottled red with the outline of your teeth, and you know that the forming bruise will be there a while. You hold his hand against your face and sniffle. The tension in your lower body dissolved sometime while you were laughing, and the distraction might have been just the break your body needed to cool down.

“Thanks. I feel better. I really do.”  
“That story works every time.”  
“I’m sorry about your nose. C’mere.”

You lean forward, and he leans closer. You kiss between his eyebrows and down to the tip of his nose.

“You always make me laugh.”  
“Beats crying ten to one.”  
“Yeah, it does.”

His eyelashes are silky under your lips, and he shifts to kiss you back, finding your cheek and then your mouth. The kisses are chaste and brief. He sighs and shifts to rest his forehead against yours.

“So, bad news; the showers are down the hall.”  
“Are we really calling it quits here?”  
“I think we should. Your eyes look a little better, at least. They were pretty dilated before.”  
“But I feel better. We don’t have to stop. Still thinking of climbing you, though.”

Spark smiles and bobs his head. He looks like he’s having a hard time finding the will to say no.

“You were in the middle of listing all your favorite parts, besides my ass,” you add.  
“You _are_ persistent.”  
“I’m horny.”  
“Yeah, but are you going to implode again?”

You can’t answer that. You’re not sure you even know how to detect the hints. You sit back and he takes your hand in his, sets them both on the cushion.

“I don’t know. I won’t know without trying to figure out the warning signs, and I can’t do that on my own.”  
“Maybe I did overdo it with the gloves, though.”  
“Nah, it was awesome. I just think carrying too much tension was the problem.”  
“And you think orgasms will help level that out?”  
“It’s a working theory. Compare before to today. What do you think?”  
“You’re not wrong.”  
“If I start to feel overwhelmed or like it’s just not enough, I’ll say so.”  
“It wasn’t enough, before?”  
“Well… The leather felt really good, but it wasn’t entirely doing it for me. So, the part of me that wanted the leather was satisfied, but the rest was left out to dry. I dunno, it’s weird. They’re both, like, sexual feelings, but different?”  
“I see. Less foreplay, more _play_.”  
“Y-yeah, I think so.”

Spark cracks a grin and rocks your hand playfully.

“You just got all flustered because I said foreplay.”  
“No.”  
“You have a verbal kink.”  
“No, I don’t.”  
“We can make it part of the-”  
“Spark.”  
“Foreplay.”  
“I don’t have a verbal kink.”  
“Really? Why you blushing?”  
“You are the worst.”  
“But I’m the best at fore-”  
“If you say foreplay one more damn time-”  
“Forty card pickup.”  
“…Really, Spark?”  
“So, are we doing this right off the bat or do you need some play before? You’re so blushing. I see you trying to not smile. Admit it, you think it’s funny.”  
“I don’t have a verbal kink!”  
“I wonder what else gets you all bothered…”  
“Nothing.”  
“I’m sure nothing isn’t it. Let’s go back to talking about your body. I think we left off at your legs.”  
“My chest, actually.”  
“Whatever. You know what my favorite thing is?”  
“Please don’t say that word again.”  
“It’s what you advertise when you wear those little skirts. It’s what you like to cover in lace.”

The one part of you still covered in lace is starting to get happily tingly, a lovely change from the unsatisfied ache before. _Ok, maybe I do have a verbal kink._

“My legs?”  
“Mm-mm. Higher.”  
“My boobs?”  
“Lower. You like it when I put my mouth there.”  
“I… um…”

 _Wow, it’s getting hot in here._ His fingers shift, weaving between yours. You bite your lip and try to avert your gaze, but feeling the weight of his stare makes you want to face his challenge head on.

“It’s where I get to be inside you,” he continues, lowering his voice. “Hot, wet, tight when you come.”

One finger suggestively caresses the gap between yours. You can’t believe you’re getting turned on by silly words and hand games. His smile widens a little.

“Being inside you feels amazing. Which is why you need foreplay.”

Your free hand reaches behind his neck to yank him in, and you crash your mouths together. You aren’t entirely sure if you’re out of options to shut him up, or embarrassed, or freshly turned on. Spark giggles and climbs closer to press you back against the leather, your legs locking around his hips. You break the kiss, his smile teasing your own smile out.

“You big, dorky gym leader.”  
“You love it.”

His hand in yours is brought to his allegedly favorite place, and you kiss him again. He takes the invitation and firmly strokes you, making your hips arch into it, and your breath catch. It’s easy to get you moaning, since your body’s been on the edge for a while. His bare fingers push the gusset aside. He moans when he touches you and finds you abundantly wet.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs between kisses. “From before?”  
“Mmm.”  
“Sure you’re ok?”  
“Mm, ‘m ok.”

His fingers slip inside you, and his thumb gently strokes you. He leaves your mouth for your neck, and you squirm as the fingers inside you begin to move. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting and twitching.

And then he pauses.

“Alright so far?”  
“’S good, don’t stop.”  
“I’m taking your panties off.”  
“Oh. Ok.”  
“And then I’m going down on you until you come.”  
“Fuck, Spark, please-”

You assume your wetness coincides with your body’s readiness for him, but he seems to have his own ideas, and all of them sound good right now. Your panties are tossed aside and he pulls your hips forward, spreading your legs just so. You’re so close that when his tongue touches you, your eyes roll back, and your breathing turns sharp. One hand grabs his hair, the other reaches up and clutches the top edge of the sofa. Your body is all too happy to finally find release, though it’s regretfully soon in lieu of present activities. As you’re catching your breath and shuddering, Spark kisses his way back up your body. You pull him closer with the hand in his hair and lick his face clean.

“Fuck me.”  
A brief, filthy kiss.  
“Yes, I will.”

You let him go and scoot sideways to give you both room along the length of the sofa. Before you can help, he’s joined you on the sofa and is stroking himself to hardness. You’re intrigued by the confidence and familiarity of the gesture, studying where and the way his fingers tighten. He’s rougher than you, more efficient. There’s a look of relaxed intent on his face: brows slightly drawn, eyes not quite focused on any one thing. You put your lips to his chest, smooth a hand along his belly and feel him twitch. Your tongue laps at a nipple, and your teeth close around it. He groans and slows his hand. You reach lower to stroke him, your fingers mingling with his. Another nip and he sighs, his fingers settling over yours and guiding them, tighter than your usual grip, from base to head and back again.

“Condoms?”  
“Behind me. You’re sexy when you get off.”  
“Now I’ll have to watch you do yourself some time.”  
“I wish you would.”

Part of you wants to keep watching him pleasure himself. You give it a sharp elbow towards your impending fucking, and hold the wrapper in your mouth as you pull out the condom and roll it on Spark. He helpfully plucks the foil from your teeth and drops it to the floor with his still-gloved hand, his bare one helping you get the latex settled just right.

“We’re good. Lay back.”  
“On my back?”  
“Yeah, just like that. Comfortable?”  
“Never thought you’d go missionary.”  
“Surprise!”

You snort-giggle at that and brace a hand on the back of the sofa as Spark gets between your legs and helps you find your balance. It’s not very graceful, you think as he breaches you and shuffles closer to get deeper. He holds your hips steady for a moment, then lets one hand go to grab the back of the sofa. He doesn’t seem convinced of your collective balance.

His expression as he begins to move makes you feel wholly exposed and appreciated. He leans down as far as he can and you get up on your elbows to meet his kiss halfway.

It takes a few more minutes of adjustments before he feels steady enough to pick up the pace. You brace a hand against the armrest just over your head, and reach between your legs to help yourself. It’s an interesting new perspective, watching Spark on top of you, looking down and seeing him plunging into your body. When he withdraws, you can feel the head of his cock grazing your G-spot —not enough to get you screaming, not yet. Watching him thrust in and feeling him fill you is better than porn, better than anything your imagination and hands could cook up. He shifts and takes hold of your hand on the armrest, pinning it down under his. Your other hand reaches back for balance, the heel of your hand on the leather, your fingers over his hand.

It doesn’t occur to you how helpless you are until he pauses and picks something up off the sofa. Your gaze falls on the leather glove he removed earlier.

“You’re about to start screaming, and I’d rather not have anyone knocking and asking questions, so…”  
“So…?”

_…Oh._

“Can you tap my hand?”

You can. You do, just to prove it.

“If you need me to stop or anything, just tap. How you holding up?”  
“I’m good. I can’t believe you’re gagging me.”  
“You can slap me for it later.”  
“I think I will.”  
“Then it’s a yes?”  
“Mm… Yes.”

He bundles up the fingers and presses the leather into your mouth. It forces your jaws open at an odd angle, and you give an experimental cough just to gauge your breathing. He pauses. You try biting down, wondering if it might feel as good as earlier, but the leather is too thickly wadded and something’s tickling your gag reflex and making you wince. You don’t need to start retching. He presses it in more, and you promptly tap his hand and grunt. He stops and draws back his gloved hand.

“Breathing alright?”  
You nod your head.  
“Comfortable?”  
You roll your eyes and nod. He chuckles.  
“Sorry, but I know you can’t keep quiet.”

You know he’s right, but you don’t have to admit it. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem too worried; he mimes a kiss at you and continues where he left off. You roll your eyes at him again. His gloved hand brushes some hair from your face, affectionately detouring to caress a knuckle over your cheek, then reaches lower to tweak a nipple. It gets you twitching and breathing harder, but your gaze remains on his face, anticipating his whims. You need to remind yourself that you’re safe, that he’s keeping an eye on you, that this isn’t the same thing as the alleyway. You can let go or tap out any time, literally.

His fingers roll your other nipple, gently tugging, and you moan against your gag. You squirm, wanting attention on your clit, and instead feel him bump against your G-spot. You can instantly appreciate why he gagged you. Breathing only through your nose means less oxygen, means your pulse is picking up faster, and your body is becoming tighter quicker. Leather caresses down your chest and belly, and you arch into the touch, feeling your cheeks flushing hot with exertion. The sofa feels so good on your naked skin; the spread of it under you and against your side feels like a whole other person embracing you. You have little movement, limited breathing, you can’t speak; you know you should be worried, freaked out, even, but that antagonistic little voice you like to argue with is speechless. All you’re left with is the lovesick optimism whispering: _Remember, you trust him. He won’t hurt you. Just relax. Just relax._

Spark’s leathered fingers gently rub between your legs and your body jerks, your nails digging into his bare hand. Your breathing picks up sharper, backed with whimpers at the back of your throat the gag can’t completely muffle. Your eyes shut and your head rolls back, your cries increasing in frequency as he plays you closer to orgasm. He was right; you were screaming, or about as close as you could, given the circumstances. You feel lightheaded, tears building at the outer corners of your eyes. Spark’s moaning, albeit quieter than at home, and his grip on your hand tightens. Another agitated squirm gets him to hit you just right and sets you off, vision behind your eyelids turning white, and your body spasming hard.

You’re shaking and struggling to stay conscious as the rush wears off. Suddenly, your lower jaw is pressed down, and the leather is pried out of your mouth. You gasp greedily for air and stroke Spark’s hand, hoping he’ll take it to mean you’re alright. He pauses until he hears your gasps calming down. Assured you’re not hyperventilating, he grabs your hip and thrusts harder, eager to get his now that you’re safe. You open your eyes blearily and watch him peak, your body trembling even after he stills and catches his breath. He strokes your face, waiting for your gaze to meet his.

“You alright? Can you speak?”  
“I’m ok. Tired. Trying to calm down.”  
“Yeah, you came really hard. Hurt me a bit.”  
“Wow. Sorry.”  
“How did you find the gag?”  
“Made it a bit harder to breathe.”  
“Made your orgasm pretty intense, though.”  
“Mm, still feeling it. I touched your hand to let you know I was ok. Did you feel it?”  
“Yeah, I saw that. That was perfect.”

You turn your head aside and yawn. You can’t help it, you’re just overcome with fatigue.

“Ah, sorry. Feel wasted all of a sudden.”  
“I bet. I’ll get up and find something for you to wear, and we’ll hit the showers, ok? After that, you can sleep.”  
“Sleep where?”  
“The nap room.”  
“…You have a nap room?”

 

The showers were down the hall, and through a unisex locker room. They were nothing like what you imagined based on school gym showers. The tiles are pleasantly rough underfoot, and patterned in varying shades of tan and cream. There are four roomy cubicles with accordion doors, a small shelf and hook on the outside, and another two shelves within the cubicle stocked with various washing liquids. The far wall of the room has a telephone shower and some kind of curved piping contraption with other spray heads on it. Spark briefly explains how it would swing out and spray heavily —helpful when you’re washing pokemon that don’t fit in a tub or are too filthy for a single bath.

You bun up your hair with the aid of some of his pencils and lethargically fumble with the buttons of the dress shirt Spark apparently kept in his office closet in case of emergency. When asked if he had ever actually needed it, he thought about it for a moment and shrugged. He’s unfurling fresh towels to hang ready on the provided hook, and starting up the shower in one of the cubicles. You feel like molasses watching him hustle around. Apparently satisfied all is ready, Spark approaches you sitting on the bench by the shower room doorway and gives you a gentle smile.

“Alright, sleepyhead, let’s get you in there.”  
“Tried to undo it.”  
“It was a very good effort. You missed these near the bottom –alright, all set.”

He slips the shirt off your shoulders, offers you a hand up, and walks you to the shower.

“Missing anything?”  
“Washcloth?”  
“Already there on the shelf.”  
“Oh. You coming in?”  
“Be right there.”

The water feels too hot at first, but then, you’re cold from being naked and tired. Taking the washcloth, you soak it and squint at the various bottles before you find one that looks like a proper facewash. Thank goodness there were women at the gym. You’re wiping your face with clean water when Spark joins you and shuts the door with a _clack_. He offers to wash your back and soaps up his own washcloth to do so. You sigh and brace a hand against the wall when he turns you to it. The gentle scrub of the cloth and the feel of his hand behind it feels relaxing and oddly reassuring.

“The hell am I this tired for?”  
“Sex is tiring.”  
“What about you?”  
“Stamina. And sex makes me feel energized.”  
“Huh. I’d like what you’re having.”  
“Hey, give yourself a break. Your body went through a lot today, and then you still pushed it for round two.”  
“True.”

Spark turns you around and continues washing you. You’re glad not to have to waste the energy. There’s nothing sexual about it, even when he’s soaping your breasts, butt, and between your thighs. As he’s passing the cloth over your shoulders and neck, he leans closer and kisses your forehead. You wrap your arms around him, press your bodies flush, and rest your cheek on his chest. You shut your eyes and feel him embrace you in turn, the cloth dangling against your hip, his cheek on your forehead. You want to say something, but your brain feels too sluggish to properly arrange the words. You hope the message, whatever it is, somehow transmits through your skin to his.

 

The nap room is insulated and quiet. The lighting is dim, provided by frosted sconces and unobtrusive baseboard tracks. It contains a handful of single-occupant beds, each made up in crisp sheets, motley quilts, and plump pillows. The frames are simple and efficient. You’re so intent on getting into bed, you forget about the writing implements in your hair until your head hits the pillow. You groan and wince as a pencil pokes the back of your skull. Spark’s already reaching for them and ruffles your hair loose. The last thing you remember is him leaning close to kiss you and wish you pleasant dreams.

 

You open your eyes again and look around, wondering, for a moment, where you are. There’s another quilt laid over you. Your clothes are tidily piled at your feet. The de-quilted bed beside you hosts your purse, a bottle of water, and something block-shaped and foil-wrapped. A note tops it.

_Hey sleeping beauty!_  
_I’m in the gym. Meet me when you’re ready._  
_Call Boomer, he’ll guide you. He can hear you better than anyone._  
_You snore really cute._  
_Love, Spark_

You snicker at the comment about your snoring, knowing full well you don’t snore, and he’s just teasing. (Right?) The water is delicious and still chilled, something purified several times. You gulp it and hold the bottle against your forehead, the ache in your head chastising you for letting yourself get dehydrated. Your gaze falls on the bar and you pick it up to examine the packaging. It’s some kind of super-healthy energy bar. Most energy bars tasted foul, but if Spark was recommending it, you would reserve your judgment. After all, he did like his sweets. You set the water on the floor and unwrap it to take a little bite. It had a chewy-cookie texture, was dotted with dried fruit and dark chocolate, and had a powdery, milk-like aftertaste. You greedily make it disappear in seconds and take up your water again.

You retrieve the compact kept in your purse, and look over your face, then pluck out the little comb to make some sense of your hair. After dressing (and changing your panty liner), you put your things and Spark’s shirt together and open the door to peer out into the hallway. All is quiet and still. For one fearful moment, you panic that you’re locked in, alone and forgotten.

“Um, Boomer?” You clear your throat and try again. “Boomer!”

A heartbeat or two later, you hear a distant squeak and sigh with relief. Soon, you hear the sound of scampering drawing near and claws ticking on the tile floor. The little yellow furball rounds the corner at the far end of the hallway and chirrups happily. You crouch to catch the pikachu in your arms and giggle as he licks your cheek.

“Hey buddy. Happy to see you, too.”  
“Chuu!”  
“Yes, yes, ok.”

You kiss his head and smooth his ears down. He coos and enjoys the attention for a moment, then braces little paws on your chest to thoroughly sniff you and inspect for damage.

“Aww, are you worried because I was sleeping during the day?”  
“Pikachu.”  
“Just needed a nap. I’m ok, Boomer. Thanks.”

He nuzzles your face and peers at you with dark, intelligent eyes. You smile and peck the top of his snout.

“Spark said he’s in the gym?”  
“Pi.”  
“Yes? Can you take me there? Take me to see daddy?”  
“Pii!”

Boomer hops out of your grasp and trots down the way he came, pausing at the corner to be sure you’re keeping up. He’s hard to miss with that jagged tail bobbing ahead of you. He doesn’t meander or mistake the route, and in moments, you’re before a large metal door. Through the wire mesh-strengthened window you can see Spark’s fearow and Dusty frolicking in the pool, soaking their feathers. But the door has no handle or push-bar on this side.

“How do I open the door?”

Boomer licks a paw and rubs at a cheek as if he’s thinking about that, too. He looks around the area, and his ears perk. He takes a running leap at a square pad on the wall, and you hear a _thunk_ as he presses the switch. The door swings open. He scampers back to you and jumps onto your hip, scaling onto your shoulder in no time. You hold up a hand and he pats a forepaw on your palm.

“Awesome.”  
“Chaa.”

Spark’s laughing and covered in pidgey when you walk in and look about the gym. Bojangles barks and stampedes over to dance around your legs. You scoop him up like a baby and kiss his head, your fingers sinking into his pelt and tickling his chest.

“Hey, Bo! Having fun with daddy’s team? Are you having fun, my sweet boy?”  
“Vee! Ebuiie~”

Bojangles whines and love-bites your hand, a trait that Spark had had to reassure you many times was a fox’s manner of showing affection. The mild pressure of his teeth felt more ticklish than painful. Boomer offers to pet him, too, making you laugh.

“Let’s go,” you suggest as you start walking towards your boyfriend harangued by cheeping birds. Bojangles is slung over your other shoulder, a hand cupped around his haunches. His tail wags to show his pleasure.

“Hey, daddy, your little Boomer was a very good boy. He helped me get here as promised.”  
“Great job, buddy! Ack, stop, my feathers don’t need preening, guys!”  
“Need a hand?”

You hold your free hand out, forming a perch, and cluck your tongue at the chicks. One flies over and lands unsteadily. Another one attempts to land and shoves her sibling over to make room. They cheep a sing-song greeting. You coo at them and make kissy noises to keep them entertained while Spark wrangles their three other siblings. He’s got two of them by the talons, and another on his shoulder, still attempting to groom him.

“How long was I out?” you enquire.  
“What time is it?”  
“Half past two.”  
“‘Bout two hours. Feel ok?”  
“I could eat, but I feel alright.”  
“You didn’t eat the bar?”  
“Oh, no, I did. But I’m still hungry.”

Spark cocks an eyebrow and looks you over, while still trying to dodge and dissuade the fifth hatchling’s single-minded mission.

“Anything you wanna tell me?”  
“Uh… no?”  
“You’re not… late or anything?”  
“What? No.”

You laugh and realize what he’s sweating about.

“Babe, condoms. Pill. Remember?”  
“Accidents can happen –Ow! That’s my ear!” A chirp is his apology.  
“I’m just hungry. Haven’t had lunch yet.”  
“Oh, right. Alright, that’s fine. Can’t believe you ate all that and you’re still hungry.”  
“Hey, I’m a growing girl.”  
“Apparently. Let’s hope you’re the only one growing –yes, you’re growing too. Please behave, or you’re getting time out.”

The pidgey collectively protest until he lets loose a piercing whistle. They are promptly silent. Bojangles tenses in surprise, and his ears tickle your cheek as they flatten against the noise.

“Yeah, yeah,” you giggle. “You’d make a great dad, though.”  
“I have enough non-human children for now. Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


End file.
